You Are My Life, My Love, My Only
by DSForeverandAlways
Summary: A collection of unrelated ficlets.
1. Chapter 1

**you are my life, my love, my only**

**Disclaimer:** Sad News: I don't own the show or the characters.

**A/N**: I've set myself a challenge of writing at least one ficlet everyday - a complete story in less than 500 words. Seeing as school ends soon, I have plenty of time to write and too much inspiration at the moment. I feel like I'm spamming y'all with my stories haha. I figured I'd keep them all together for easy reference. Some of them will have a point, others will just be little bits of fluff. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

"I really want to kiss you right now."

His voice is barely a whisper brushing hotly over her right ear and she can't stop the involuntary list of her body. She sways in his direction, the magnetized heat of his chest reeling her in. Her fingers clench around the ceramic coffee cup, burning with the desire to reach out and touch him. He props his hip against the counter and stares at her profile, too close for Chuck&Blair's kitchen but not nearly close enough for all the things she wants to do to him.

"I want to feel your body pressed against mine," he continues in a low tone, his words smooth and heavy, "I want to kiss you until you can't breathe, until your lips are red and swollen."

She mutters his name, a warning and a plea. Six months and he still affects her violently, just the mere thought of his hands and lips on her body enough to leave her wet and aching in the middle of Chuck&Blair's Kitchen.

"I want to peel your shirt off and feel the way your muscles jump in anticipation. I want," he leans closer, the hem of his jacket skimming against her hip, "to tease you until you beg me to stop, to just _touch_ you already."

His pinky finger brushes along her wrist and she jumps, lukewarm coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug. She brings her coffee soaked thumb to her mouth and sucks it between her lips, tongue swirling over the rough pad. He groans softly, dark and full of want, and her stomach churns with the need to hear it again, to watch his face tense in pleasure as she rises above him. Peering out through the half open blinds, she quickly scans the Penthouse for signs of surveillance.

Confident that they're not being watched, Serena twists her torso and wraps her fingers around the lapel of his jacket, pushes her chest up against his. She grazes his chin with the soft edge of her lower lip, nips sharply at his jaw. His hands fist at her waist when she slicks her tongue over his lips, swallows his hungry moan. His body surges against hers and she jerks away, straightening her shirt and moving toward the door as he stares at her, slack jawed and starry eyed.

Chuckling at his expression, Serena tosses back over her shoulder as she exits the room, "Don't be so certain that _I'd_ be the one doing the begging, Dan."


	2. Chapter 2

**you are my life, my love, my only**

**A/N**: Most of these stories are set before the flash forward and after the reveal of Gossip Girl. I'll let you know once one is set after the flash forward or even before Season 6. Or if it is an AU Ficlet.

I woke up with this in my head. I have no idea where it came from but I couldn't go back to sleep without getting it out, hence why I wrote this at 5am this morning. I apologize in advance.

* * *

She wears blue to his funeral.

Her costume is thick and stiff, the industrial wool heavy on her skin. The band of her hat cuts into her forehead as she stands at the foot of his casket, watches a sobbing Jenny. Her own gloved hands clench tightly at her side, the urge to run, to put as much distance between herself and this scene as possible surging through her tightly coiled muscles.

She doesn't speak; couldn't if she wanted. Words haven't come in days, her voice muted alongside his. Her heart beats out a mournful arrhythmia, skipping beats when she thinks about his face. About the shape of his hands and the way he made her feel precious and revered. About the way he'd slowly slipped away from her, an apology swimming in his glassy eyes.

He knew. He knew what she refused to accept, her body hunched over his, the sun melting the asphalt beneath them back down to a sticky tar as she tried desperately to stem the flow, to plug the hole in his chest with the weight of her body and the force of her love. She'd batted away his last act of love and compassion with a shake of her head, her too small hands pressed futilely to his once white shirt. He'd tried so hard to say goodbye.

She wishes she'd listened.

Her left hand lifts to her chest, fingers digging into the scratchy material, searching for the shape of the ring that rests heavily under her jacket. It's familiar but different to Steven's; the diamond is bigger, the band platinum instead of gold. She'd found it in his dresser, her hand brushing over the velvet box while searching for his favourite socks, the blue ones with the little winged typewriters. Her ring finger tingles with the phantom weight it will never bear.

She'd had no idea he was going to ask.

She would have said yes.

The mourners disperse, pulling away in cars as dark as their clothes, and she remains, her feet rooted to the brittle brown grass as the groundsmen start their work. She watches as they dismantle the podium, roll up the scratchy green carpets, their brows glistening with sweat. A soft hand lands on her arm when the mound of dirt is halfway gone, the dull thud of soil against wood echoing in her ears.

"Come on, Darling," Lily whispers, the scent of her flowery perfume making Serena's stomach churn. "You don't need to watch this."

Serena lets her mother thread their fingers but resists her pull, her eyes fixed on the slowly filling hole.

He left her but she won't do the same.


	3. Chapter 3

**you are my life, my love, my only**

**A/N: **As always, thank you for reading and let me know what you think.

* * *

He wakes to the feeling of her fingers skimming through his hair, her breath washing over his cheek, the scent of peppermint lingering in the air. The sun has barely risen, the room cast in a rose tinted haze as he pries one eye open, tries to focus on her face.

"Hey," she whispers, a smile peeking through in her voice, "I just wanted to see how you're feeling before I go." Her hand slides from his temple to his forehed, long fingers pressing gently against his flushed skin. "You're still pretty warm."

"Because you made me sleep under five layers of blankets while wearing a sweatsuit and wool socks," he croaks, throat aching and raw. He catches her wrist when she moves to grab the thermometer from the nightstand, tries to not let the vertigo show in his eyes as he shakes his head at her. "I'm fine, Serena."

She glares down at him, aiming the thermometer at his closed lips. "Open."

He obeys, a sigh trapped in his congested chest. Serena slides the thermometer under his tongue and sits up, her blue button down bunched around her torso. "You know, I always assumed you'd milk this kind of situation." He raises an eyebrow at her, fights back a shiver. "You haven't made a single naughty nurse joke. Frankly, I'm concerned."

His chuckle turns into a hacking cough, the thermometer bouncing off his teeth. Serena's face melts to amusement to concern in an instant, her arms wrapping around his chest, tugging him up. The fit subsides and she helps him prop himself up against the headboard, his muscles burning with the effort. She pulls the thermometer out of his mouth when it beeps, her brow furrowed as she stares at the digital readout.

"A hundred point six."

"I always knew I was hot." Her fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, worry etched across her face. "Serena, it's just the flu. I'm fine." He points at the nightstand, the top of the overflowing with the vast assortment of over the counter remedies she'd brought over two days before, ignoring his protests and assertions that he was fine, that he was in a perfect health. She'd taken one look at him, curled up on the couch, pale faced and shivering, and had ordered him to bed with a stern voice and a withering glare. "I have an entire drugstore at my fingertips and a refrigerator full of Gatorade. Go to Blair."

Her fingers flutter over his cheek, light and cool. "I don't want to leave you."

The tenderness in her voice makes his heart ache, sends overheated blood slamming through his already pounding head. "I know. But you have to. Otherwise Blair's going to kill me because you've missed your traditional Sunday Morning with Croissants and Breakfast at Tiffany's. Especially now that Chuck's on a business travel and she's home all alone."

She chuckles and then sighs, hand sliding down to rest over his heart. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"I promise."

"Okay." He closes his eyes as her lips slide over his cheek, soft and damp. "I'll check on you in a little while. I love you."

"I love you, too," he mumbles, sleep tugging at him. The bed shifts as she stands, her hand sliding slowly across his chest. He listens to her heels click on the hardwood floor, calls out when he thinks she's almost gone. "Serena?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't think I'm gonna forget that little naughty nurse comment. I'm sick, not delirious."

He nods off with the sound of her laughter echoing in his ears.


	4. Chapter 4

**you are my life, my love, my only**

**A/N:** I feel like i'm following a pattern: fluff, angst, fluff and now angst again lol I swear I'm not doing that on purpose, blame my mind.

* * *

She loves his hands. How they feel on her body, smoothing over her tighs and stomach, pulling her closer and warming her skin. The way her shoulders fit perfectly into his cupped palms, fingers pressed against the hard jut of her scapulae. She loves to watch the way he moves them when he talks, sweeping his words along with a theatricality that can only be hereditary. She loves to listen as he types, the keystrokes firm and sure, the story of them pouring from the tips of his fingers.

She loves the way he loves her, deeply and without reservation. How it feels to wake up in his arms, secure and safe, her body warmed by the heat of his. He pulls her out of herself with his wry observations, lightens the load she carries with a well-timed joke or inappropriate innuendo. She loves the way he's almost shy at times, hiding behind his boyish charm when he's nervous, his eyes shining with poorly hidden need as he patiently waits for her to return his love. She loves the way he scooped her off her feet the first time she said it, a joyous laugh bellowing out of his lungs.

She loves his chest, the broad expanse of it. The way his heart thunders under her hands as he claims her, her name rumbling around inside the cage of his ribs. The soft pattern of his breathing, deep and contented, when she rests her head on him, her body curled into the cove of his side.

She loves the way they just work together, like their minds are connected. He challenges her. He understands her, stands by her side no matter what.

She loves his mouth. The soft pout of his bottom lip, how it slips easily between her own. The way he breaks her apart with the glide of his tongue and pieces her back together with the beauty of his words.

She loves him. His generous heart and quick mind. His endless capacity for compassion and forgiveness. She loves his arms, his waffles, the way he hums in the shower. How he looks at her like she's the only woman he ever wanted, ever loved, and she finds herself believing it.

She needs him to look at her like that now. Needs him to open his eyes and smile, let the sound of his voice drown out the steady beeps of the heart monitor, the mechanical click of the machines that stand sentinel around his bed. Needs to feel his limp fingers tighten around hers, the life coming back into his too still body.

She loves him.

She needs him to live.


	5. Chapter 5

**you are my life, my love, my only**

"How's your friend?"

Serena drops down next to him on the couch, her body loose and buzzing with alcohol. Dan pulls her legs over his lap and she folds herself into his side, head resting heavily on his shoulder. His fingers slip under the hem of her pant leg, tracing gently over the sharp jut of her ankle.

"She's fine. Just needed to have a couple bottles of wine and a few hours of bitching about her luck with men."

"I thought it was going well with this business man?"

"It was," Serena sighs, her fingers plucking at the buttons on his shirt, "until he said his ex-wife's name while they were in bed the other night."

"Oh, ouch," Dan hisses, the faintest trace of amusement in his voice. "And the police is not going to have to arrest her for murder?"

"No. She just broke up with him and told him to call her when he figures out what he wants."

"That is a surprisingly reasonable response."

"Yeah, well, then she called her ex-boyfriend, so-" Serena trails off, her train of thought lost to the hypnotic dip and twirl of his fingers over her side.

"Oh."

"Mmm-hmm."

She lets herself drift, the buzz of alcohol and the feel of his body making her warm and comfortable, her muscles and joints loose. The silence stretches between them and she revels in it, loves that they can have these moments where they sit quietly, simply enjoying the pleasure of being together. They're nine months into this again and the excitement lingers, refuses to fade. Her heart still flips when he kisses her good morning, she still gets butterflies when he pulls her close and chants his love for her into the curve of her neck as he slowly peels off her clothes.

"Have you ever done that?"

"What?"

"Said the wrong name."

Her body tenses involuntarily at the memory, the embarrassment and pain of that night flooding through her. Dan tightens his hand around her waist, brushes a soft kiss over the top of her head. "You don't have to answer that. I was just thinking out loud."

Serena swallows hard, her fingers curling tightly into the front of his shirt, the buttons pressing hard into the palm of her hand. She can tell him this now. It's okay. She doesn't have to hide it anymore.

"Once," she whispers. He doesn't respond, just keeps sweeping his finger up and down her side, his other hand still caressing the curve of her ankle. "It was- It was the night you guys showed up at the wedding; I had this fight with you and with Blair and then there were Georgina, Chuck and Nate; I was a mess." She turns her head, rubbing her cheek over his shoulder, the tip of her nose skimming along his neck. "Steven was waiting for me in the bedroom at the end of the day. He was pissed that I hadn't told him my real name and everything. We fought and, like almost all our fights, it ended in sex."

Dan nods, the steady movement of his hands never ceasing. They'd settled their jealousy issues months ago during one long night of wine and talking. She'd told him about how she basically broke up with Max because she realised that she had feelings for him, how much she hated seeing him with Blair; he'd told her how it had hurt him so deeply to see her with Aaron and Ben but that he had been willing to let her go if that was what would make her happy. They spent the wee hours of the morning absolving each other of their sins, their slick bodies rolling and sliding across the bed, against each other.

"Anyway, I said- I said the wrong name and then we ended up fighting more. That was pretty much the beginning of the end of us. He didn't even know that I had dated the guy."

"He knew what Nate meant to you," Dan whispers. "You were upset that we all just showed up."

Serena leans back as she arches her eyebrows in confusion, finds him looking down at her with gentle compassion etched into the soft curve of his smile. She searches his face for a moment before pressing out a long sigh. He really doesn't know.

"It wasn't Nate, even though he had technically been the last guy I was in a long-term relationship with." She forces herself to meet his eyes, wants him to see the truth written in hers. "It was you."

She feels the moment her words sink in, his fingers digging hard into her ribcage and clamping around her ankle, stopping the flow of blood to her left foot. "Me?"

"Yeah, Dan. You."

"Why- why? You hated me."

"Did you really believe that for a second?" He nods, mouth falling open as he stares at her. "Dan, I was still in love with you. I was mad at you for rejecting me, for telling me that you'd never have to see me again, but it was there. And everything we went through the months before, how I confessed my love for you, how you dated my best friend, how we ended up having sex at a divorce party. I just couldn't stop thinking about you, no matter how hard I tried.

"I- I had no idea."

"Yeah," Serena sighs softly, her eyes falling away from his. "I was pretty good at hiding it."

"Serena."

"I know. We weren't ready to swim yet. But-" she looks back up, feels the words pressing up her throat, scrambling to finally be free, "that night, Dan, I wanted it to be you. I wanted it to be you so very badly."

He crushes her to his chest, claiming her lips roughly. She can feel his heart thundering against her ribs and breathes in deeply as her own picks up a matching rhythm, a frantic tattoo that drives her forwards, pushes her into his lap.

"I wanted it to be me too," he pants between kisses, his breath hot against her skin.

"Really?" she asks, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt.

"Really."

* * *

**A/N:** Oops, more than 500 words. I'm not even sorry though. Also, this totally happened in the show. At least in my mind and no one can take that away from me ;) Also, that thing with Nate doesn't really fit, but I needed another name because I wanted Dan to be surprised, so yeah.


	6. Chapter 6

**you're my life, my love, my only**

**A/N:** I got inspired to write this after reading Chiara's Fic for the second time. This little ficlet is set **after** the flash forward!

* * *

She wakes to find him curled at the foot of the bed, his hair flopping down over his forehead, eyes shining brightly. The low sound of his murmurs fill the room, washing over her with the late afternoon sunshine, warming her skin. He grins up at her when she twines her fingers through his hair, nails scraping over his scalp. The brush of his stubble makes her jump when he presses a quick kiss to the swell of her abdomen before shimmying up the bed to gather as much of her in his arms as he can.

"The baby gets a kiss before I do? That's how it's gonna be now?"

He laughs when she yawns, her jaw clicking loudly. "The baby was awake. You weren't."

"Mm-hmm," she hums, tugging him in for a long kiss, the slick side of his lips pulling her the rest of the way to consciousness. "You've been greeting my stomach before my face for at least three months."

"Well, it's the first thing to enter the room so -" Dan trails off as she swipes at him, her palm connecting solidly with his shoulder. Serena glares at him and he grins down at her, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and dropping his lips to the base of her palm. "Save the physical abuse delivery, Serena," he advises, damp lips dragging over her pounding pulse. He climbs over the mountain of her stomach, settling himself down behind her, sweeps the long sheet of hair from her neck. She can't help the groan that rumbles in her chest when his fingers dig into her tense muscles, seeking out the stubborn knots she's been carrying almost as long as the baby. "One week to go," he whispers, his sock covered toes pushing into the arch of her left foot.

"I know." Serena shakes her head, her cheek pressing into the pillow as she spreads her fingers across her distended abdomen. The baby hasn't stopped fidgeting in days, a constant series of flips and kicks that keep her up at all hours, her mind over-tired and her body over-stimulated. "Seems like just yesterday we were sneaking off to have drunken sex in the stairwell at your book launch."

His breath is hot against her neck when he chuckles, hips bumping gently against the curve of her ass. "We can never tell her the story of her conception."

"That's not a story _anyone_ needs to hear, Dan, much less our daughter."

"You realize that since most of our milestones in the past 6 years involve sex or manipulative stuff -"

"Or both."

" - that we literally have _no_ stories that are acceptable to tell our baby?"

"Well, then," Serena sighs, a shiver sliding lazily down her spine as his lips ghost over her neck, "it's a good thing I married a man that makes stuff up for a living."


	7. Chapter 7

**you are my life, my love, my only**

She thinks he's a late riser. Thinks that in all the time they've been together, that he's only woken before her a handful of times. She'd kill him if she knew the truth.

He wakes up before her regularly. Years of being a big brother and High School as well as College Student have permanently altered his body clock, his subconcious attuned to the singing of the birds. He continued to rise early along after graduating from College. He'd shuffle into the kitchen, bleary eyed and disheveled, smiling at the sight of his father sitting at the bar, breakfast spread out before him.

And though he has no actual reason to rise with the sun anymore, but he does, his brain kicking over into consciousness at six like clockwork. Usually he forces himself back to sleep, tries to reclaim some of the hours he's lost over the past years. But sometimes-

Sometimes he waits.

Serena is slow to wake; she takes her time, breathing changing from slow and deep to quick and shallow over the course of half an hour. She snuffles and scrubs at her face, fighting the process with the adorable petulance of a child. Her legs twitch and her fingers curl under, nails biting into the bare skin of his chest. He listens, keeps his face and body perfectly still. Because if he waits long enough it happens.

Her knee presses into his tigh and he tries hard not to smile, not to let his lips quirk up in anticipation of what's coming. Cool fingers slide over his ribs and down his side, a long slow sweep that pulls goose bumps up on his skin, makes him ache to let go of the charade and roll into her, cradle himself between her tighs and claim her mouth. She pushes up on one elbow and the tips of her hair whisper across his bare shoulder as her fingers slide back up his chest, dance along the curve of his jaw. She traces over his nose and chin, sweeps her thumb along the ridge of his brow before dipping into the shallow dent at his temple.

Serena van der Woodsen likes to watch him sleep.

The thought makes him want to giggle like a schoolgirl, elation bubbling up inside his chest. She's surprisingly sentimental and it delights him to no end. She keeps little mementos of their relationship - a playbill from the first show they saw together, the card that came with the first I'm-Sorry-I-Was-A-Giant-Jackass boquet he'd sent her. His smile almost slips out at the thought of that one.

He knows she's about to get up when her nose brushes his cheek, her lips, soft and dry, skimming along behind, dragging over his stubble.

She plants a solid kiss under his left ear, tongue darting for just a second.

"I love you."

His eyes fly open and he's over her in a flash, looking down into her smiling face.

"Morning, you big faker," she laughs, swatting at his chest. He swoops down and claims her lips, swallowing the rest of her giggles. Her legs lift and hook over the backs of his tighs and she sighs into his kiss, wrapping her arms around his chest and pulling him down.

Breathless, he pulls back and stares down at her with a look he knows must be part awe, part disbelief. "You knew?"

"I've always known you were faking it." She rolls her eyes. "You really have _no_ acting skills whatsoever."

"I'll show you skills," he grumbles, rolling his hips against her, grinning when her eyes flutter closed. He drops his head and runs his lips up the column of her throat, stopping next to her ear. "I hope you're ready, Serena. The combination of morning sex and _I love you_ sex has been known to maim lesser mortals."

Her legs drop and her arms tighten around his chest and suddenly he's on his back looking up at her smirking face and tousled hair.

"Don't worry, Dan. I'll go easy on you."


	8. Chapter 8

**you are my life, my love, my only**

He runs into her at Starbucks.

"Dan."

"Hey."

It's awkward. So incredibly awkward. He hasn't seen her in months. She looks so good in her high heels and coat, her hair a little bit darker and cascading over her shoulders. He wants to reach out and touch her, make sure she's real. He's imagined this scenario a thousand times, come up with a hundred different things he would say to her if he had the chance. Tell her he was sorry, ask why she didn't leave a note. He's dreamed about yelling at her more than once, screaming until he was red in the face, demanding to know how in the hell she could just give up on them after everything they went through.

"How've you been?"

He cringes at the way the words sound, desperate and needy. He's not supposed to care anymore.

And still.

"Okay. I'm working for a production company now, so I've been pretty busy." She won't meet his eye, her gaze fixed at some random point just past his left ear. "And you? How are Rufus and your sister?"

"They're good. My father is busy with the gallery. Jenny just graduated from Fashion School, she's so happy about being an official designer now." Her fingers tighten around her cup, thumbnail scraping over the cardboard sleeve in that way that used to drive him insane. She'd always huff when he reached out and plucked the cup from her hands, making a show of sliding the sleeve off and throwing it away. He wonder how she'd react if he tried that now. "How's Nate?"

"He's-" She falters, her free hand rising to rest on her flat stomach. Her stomach that would have been rounded and inhibiting her daily life by now if he had only been just a few seconds faster. If only he'd been able to push her away from the coming car. If only he'd been better. "He's okay. Seeing a therapist, trying to deal with it. He still blames himself. I've tried to convince him that he's the hero, that he's prevented the worst."

"And Blair?"

Serena smiles softly, her eyes shimmering. "The baby keeps her going." In a tiny voice, she continues. "She asked me to be his godmother. Thought it would help."

His heart stumbles. "Does it?"

"Sometimes." She finally looks him in the eye. "But not really. Nothing really helps, Dan."

"Serena-" He takes a step forwards, his hands lifting toward her.

"Hey, babe. You ready to go?"

A tall man with a chiseled jaw strides up, throws an arm over her shoulder. Dan just stares at her, watches the pity and fear flash through her eyes. She's on a date.

She's dating.

His blood stops flowing and he feels his knees lock, body swaying periously on the spot. He cannot pass out in the middle of Starbucks. Dan tears his eyes away from Serena, examines the man standing next to her. He's tall and handsome, with a kind face and an easy smile. He obviously has no idea what he's standing in the middle of, can't feel the palpable tension spanning the distance between them. His hand comes out, palm broad and calloused, and Dan takes it, forces himself not to squeeze until he feels his bones cracking.

"Matthew Bates."

"Dan Humphrey."

Recognition sparks in the man's eyes and Dan takes a small measure of comfort in that. At least he knows. At least she doesn't pretend like it never happened.

Like _they_ never happened.

"We should go," Serena says, an apology in her voice. "It was good to see you."

It's a lie and they both know it.

"Yeah, you too."

"Tell Jenny I said congratulations."

"I will."

He watches them walk out, Matthew pulling Serena close to his side as the chilly December air swirls around them. Dan finishes his coffee with a shaking hand, his stomach rebelling against the intrusion. He tosses the cup and pulls out his gloves, tugging them on quickly. He just needs to get out. The flash of gold on his left hand catches his attention and he swallows back the dry sob, yanks his glove on savagely. He'll take it off when he gets home.

Put it in the box next to hers.


	9. Chapter 9

**you are my life, my love, my only**

"Really?" He leans back against the couch, fingers gripping her waist.

"Yes, really." She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Were you expecting a different answer?"

He hesitates, wonders how honest he can be. She smiles at him, coy and happy, and his heart jumps, slamming merrily into his ribs. "Well, yeah," he confesses, relieved to see her grin only grown in response to his honestly. "I was at least expecting to have to convince you. I had a five point plan."

"A five point plan to convince me to move in with you?"

"Yes."

Serena laughs and twists in his lap until she's straddling him, her knees pressing hard against his hips, ass resting low on his tighs. "Tell me."

"I'd planned to start with the basics, appeal to your logic." He skates his hands over her tighs, dipping under the hem of her shorts, enjoying the way her muscles flex under his touch. "You know, pointing out that you practically almost live here already, that you have more clothes in the closet than I do. Mention how you haven't been to your Penthouse for more than thirty minutes at a time in over a month."

"All true," she hums, toying with the collar of his shirt, the pads of her fingers cool and soft against his neck. "And if logic failed?"

"Point two. Convenience. The Loft is in Brooklyn which happens to be the best borough in the city. Plus, you wouldn't have to go that far out of your way just because none of the ten pairs of boots you have here happen to be the ones you want to wear on a random Tuesday Morning."

"You like those zip up black ones just as much as I do, Dan," she purrs, sliding further down into the cradle of his lap. Her hands move to the center of his chest, fingers deftly flicking open the buttons of his shirt. "Three?"

"Begging." He scoffs, her breath hot against his throat, nose brushing over the line of his jaw. "I'm not above it. Though it would have been very manly begging, I assure you."

"Mmm-hmm." Her lips feather over his cheek, tracing a damp path toward his left er, as she pushes his shirt down around his elbows, hands trailing fire over his chest. "And when that inevitably failed?"

"Wine," he chokes, cupping her ass and tugging her closer. Her hips roll into him when he slips his fingers into the waist of her shorts, drawing random designs across the small of her back.

"Isn't that just a subcategory of the begging?"

"Not whine. Wine. I got a bottle of your favorite yesterday." Dan groans when her nails scape over his stomach, tracing the line where his belt presses into his flesh. "It's in the kitchen."

"Plying me with alcohol merits an entire point of your plan?"

"It dovetails into five," he explains breathlessly, chasing her smiling mouth. She eludes him easily, her lips skimming over his briefly before she dips down to nip at his adam's apple.

"And what _is_ five?"

"Sex."

Her chest bounces off his as she laughs, the tips of her hair dncing over his skin. Dan catches her mouth, swallowing her surprised squeak as he twists to the side, pinning her body underneath his on the couch. A soft moan vibrates in her chest when his fingers crest the arc of her ribs, thumbs scaping under the band of her bra. Her legs unfod and then curl around his waist, pulling him down into the welcoming give of her hips.

"Sex, Dan? Really?"

"You've readily agreed to more than a few dubious ideas immediately following orgasms, Serena." He bites at her bottom lip, dips his tongue into the dents left by his teeth. "Just playing the odds."

"Five points, culminating in sex, just to get me to move in?" Her eyes glitter as he stares down at her, nodding his head earnestly.

"You know me. I'm a planner."

Serena laughs and pulls him down for a scorching kiss, her body warm and arching under his. "In that case," she husks, her fingers reaching for the buckle under his belt, "I can't wait to see how many points are in your plan when you decide to propose."


	10. Chapter 10

**you are my life, my love my only**

It's like a dam has been broken.

She spent so much time repressing her desire for him, tried to concentrate on Steven, pretending that she didn't imagine the burn of his hands and the glide of his lips and how his body would feel pressed against hers, building up walls to keep the thoughts of him at bay. So many nights tangled in her own sheets as she levees gave away and she was forced to swallow down the broken syllables of his name while she touched herself, her fingers too slim and lithe, palms too familiar. She wanted him from the start. From the moment he looked up at her with those bright, wonderful eyes, she knew. Knew she'd eventually fall in love with him.

She didn't know it'd be like this though. She had no idea that once she'd had him- knew what it was like to be kissed by him, to feel the bulk of his body pressing her down into the mattress, to watch his face as he tipped over the edge with her name on his tongue- that the desire would only increase. That want would become _need._ That the idea of going a day without his lips and his arms, his palms branded to the swel of her hips, would make her stomach churn, her muscles ache.

It's an addiction, she thinks. Within a few years, she's become addicted to him. To the rough timbre of his voice. The way his fingertips spark like flint against the hard ridges of her bones, sink into the fleshy dips of her curves. How he covers her, fills her, blurs the edges of her world with the glide of his tongue and the thrust of his hips.

He laughs when she follows him into the shower, calls her insatiable as he presses her up against the slick tile, sinks his teeth into the soft curve of her shoulder. He gasps when she brushes the back of her hand over him in the living room while having tea with her mother, her name a stranged rasp in his throat. His moan echoes in the cave of her open mouth when she pushes him up against the wall in a dark corner of a bar, his hands wrapping around her tighs as she climbs his body, desperate to be closer.

The more she has, the more she wants. It's never enough. There's never enough of his skin, his mouth, his warmth. She wants him constantly; it burns in her veins, an eternal flame incinerating her from the inside. She crumbles when he touches her, the ashes of her self-control scattering in the wake of his hot breath over her neck.

Sometimes the fear creeps in, the worry that she's giving him too much, revealing secrets with the arch of her back and the wanton twist of her hips. But when she finds him staring at her with hunger in his eyes, when she feels his feral growl vibrate against the delicate skin of her inner tigh, when his body surges into hers, fast and rough and _so fucking goo_d- she knows it doesn't matter. He's ruined her with his mouth and his hands and his love. But it's okay.

She's ruined him too.


	11. Chapter 11

**you are my life, my love, my only**

The sand is hot and loose under her bare feet. It trickles into the spaces between her toes as she sinks down, her body melting under the blazing midday sun. Serena tips her face up and lets the warm island breeze rush over her cheeks, ruffle through her hair. Fat, white clouds float happily across the sky; she watches them drift and morph, a smile pulling at her lips. She used to spend hours sprawled across the grass with her mother, watching the clouds weave across the summer sky and picking out random shapes, making up ridiculous stories about fluffly bunnies jumping over giant mushrooms in a sea of melting ice cream. Her eyes slip shut as she leans back against the sloping dune, allows her minds to drift along with the clouds.

The graceful arc of the sun is her only indication of the passing time. She left her watch in New York, her phone buried deep within her suitcase. This vacation was his idea but she's flung herself into it wholeheartedly, dedicated all her efforts into making certain that he knows that she's here with him one hundred percent. That there's no place else she'd rather be.

He's wearing her out with adventures but she can't bring herself to tell him, not when he looks at her with such uninhibited joy scribbled in the lines around his eyes. She hasn't seen him so free, unencumbered by fear and longing, in over a yer and she'll be damned if she's going to let anything ruin it.

The light filtering through her dark tinted sunglasses and closed eyelids dims and she grins, holding a hand out into the thick air, fingers wiggling. Sand scatters, abrading her bare stomach and legs, as he plops down next to her, his hand warm against hers.

"You found me."

"Were you hiding? 'Cause if so we really need to work on your evasion skills, Serena."

"Not hiding", she laughs, bright and airy. "Just relaxing." She turns her head to look at him, squinting the blinding sunlight. "Is it time for the tour?"

Dan shakes his head and he leans back, stretches his body out next to hers on the sand. "I cancelled it."

"You've been going on about seeing lava close up for days, Dan."

"There are other tours," he shrugs, pushing sand up into his ears. "Right now, I'd rather watch the clouds."

"Why?"

His fingers tighten between hers and Serena can see the lines radiating out from the edges of his sunglasses as he grins and points his face toward the sky.

"Everyone needs to relax sometimes, Serena."


	12. Chapter 12

**you are my life, my love, my only**

**A/N**: I just keep on cheating with the word limit, I have no self control whatsoever.

* * *

Her foot is warm in his hand, toes curling under against the hard press of his thumb. She hums when he hits a spot at the apex of her arch, the muscle tense from ten hours spent on her feet, walking down 5th Avenue while shopping with Blair on four inch heels.

"That's good?"

"Mmm."

"Use your words, Serena," he teases, grinning as she gives him a half hearted eyeroll from behind her glass of wine.

"All talked out," she mumbles, the glass clinking against the coffee table as her heart thumps against the arm of the couch. He loves her like this, relaxed and content, her legs tossed across his lap, his own personal blanket of Serena. "You talk."

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"Whatever." She lifts a hand off her stomach, waves it lazily through the air. "Surprise me."

"You remember what happened the last time you said that to me, right?"

Serena cracks open an eye and stares him down and he tries so hard not to grin but her exhausted glare is immensely adorable and he feels his lips tilting, stretching across the bow of his teeth.

"Okay, a story then," he laughs, running his fingers over the top of her foot, slipping up under the hem of her pants to circle the bony jut of her ankle. "Have I ever told you about the time I spent two hundred freaking dollars tracking down Jenny's lost copy of the third Harry Potter book?"

Her eyes don't open as she laughs, her hair crinkling against the leather of the couch as she shakes her head. Dan switches to her other foot, eyes trained on her face, watching the way her lips twitch and part, a soft sigh resting on her tongue.

"She was ten and fully esconced in her Harry Potter phase. There were only five books at the time and she read them in constant rotation, never went anywhere without at least one of them," he says, the memories rolling easily off his tongue. "I'd just gotten back from a soccer game and found her sitting on the stairs, sobbing, her nightgown pulled down over her knees." Serena hums, her body sinking further into the couch as her consciousness starts to fade.

"She'd left the book in a cab while she was out with one of her friends and was inconsolable. She was so mad at herself for being irresponsible and not having more respect for her books." He chuckles softly and drops his head back, continues telling his story to the ceiling. "I told her we'd get a new copy but she refused. Said she didn't deserve to have a new copy if she couldn't managed to hang on to the old one. She cried herself to sleep that night and it broke my heart. So the next day I called her friend's mom and found out what cab company they'd used and then spent the afternoon on the phone, talking to dispatcher after dispatcher, trying to find her book."

His hands drift up her calves, smoothing over the soft material of her slacks in time to the cadence of his words, the story playing vividly in his mind. He remembers giving up on the phone and pulling on his coat, heading out in the cold February afternoon with a wad of cash in his pocket that he had earned from working at a bookstore in the past 6 months, determined to find the book, to mend his little sister's broken heart. It took him seven cabs before he found the book tucked under the seat of a battered old cab, the cover bent and scuffed. He'd straightened it out as best as he could, left it on the foot of her bed, watched with anticipation as she trdged home after school, her little shoulders sagging with a weight far too heavy for her years. The peeling squeal of joy echoes in his mind and he smiles, heart swelling at the memory.

"You're an amazing brother and you're going to be an even more amazing dad." The quiet words startle him and he jerks upright, finds her staring at him with soft, sleepy eyes.

"I thought you were asleep."

"And miss a story like that?" Serena sits up slowly, her hand warm on the base of his neck as she pulls him in for a long, gentle kiss. She brushes her nose along his jaw, eyelashes tickling his cheek. "Never."


End file.
